


Four Accidents (And One More)

by nekokoban



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Rule 63, fem!Bunny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 00:26:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekokoban/pseuds/nekokoban
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's never because he's <i>trying</i> to look for her, until it is.  (Rule 63 AU.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Accidents (And One More)

**Author's Note:**

> From [this prompt](http://rotg-kink.dreamwidth.org/2200.html?thread=2796184). I like Rule 63 a lot, what can I say.

The first time they met was an accident, sort of.

He'd been laughing over the success of his latest prank -- school closures for a _week_ , take that! -- and he'd thought he'd hidden himself pretty well, but it apparently hadn't been good enough, because one moment he was drifting midair and the next minute something full-out body tackled him and sent them both crashing to the ground. It knocked the air clear out of him, and for a moment he saw stars.

Then he realized that he was being pinned by something incredibly large and heavy, and he blinked hard to focus on the giant rabbit leaning over him. It was a sleek thing, with mottled gray fur that faded to a white underbelly and it--

"What the bloody hell did you think you were doing?!"

\--okay, _she_ \--had the most vividly green eyes Jack had ever seen in his life. And when he focused past that, he saw that she had muscles that were visible even under that fur, and he had the brief dizzying thought that she wasn't even really _trying_ to hold him down. Not that it really would need to take that much, but still. Wow.

"Oi!" She snapped under his nose (who knew rabbits could snap?), still scowling furiously with that not-quite human face. "I asked you a question, Frostbite!"

That got his attention, and he straightened a little, as best he could under her pinning hand. "You know my name?"

"You're not exactly _subtle_ ," she said, and there was enough drawling exaggeration in her voice to turn that statement into an insult. "Jack Bloody Frost, you've got thirty seconds to explain yourself before I--"

Later, he would say he did it as a joke -- another to crown the main event -- but the truth was, he wasn't sure exactly what impulse grabbed him. Without thinking, he pursed his lips and blew a kiss at her: a small glowing snowflake that struck her nose and made her go wide-eyed and snuffly for a moment. Her grip on him loosened, and he took the opportunity to wriggle free, scrambling until the wind could catch him up and pull him away, and he laughed to hear her shouting after him, all the sorts of things he at least _hoped_ she wasn't saying in front of kids.

Or, really, in front of them was fine too, because sometimes the look on an adult's face was the best reward for a joke well-executed.

Years later, he'd look back on that blizzard and call it one of his finest works.

(That was around when he started practicing how to draw rabbits in frost; he made them all deceptively slim and soft-looking when bunched up, but when he gave them that extra burst of magic to bring them to life, they were fast and strong, leaping as high as his elbow and higher, and though their eyes had no color to them, he would sometimes scatter pine needles across their delicate fur and pretend.)

The second time they met was also an accident; he'd been enjoying himself as best he could, trying to pretend that having the glory of his sledding victory snatched from him by the _Tooth Fairy_ of all things didn't sting -- and then there'd been a strange blur that had caught his eye more than once, and well, curiosity might have killed the cat, but Jack Frost had more than nine lives to spare.

Which was how he'd ended up stuffed in a sack and tossed through a portal, which was how he'd ended up being told that he was meant to be a Guardian, and wasn't _that_ all kinds of ridiculous? And at least Bunny thought so too, her green eyes snapping (anger did something amazing to them, gave them sparks that were almost gold and shards that were almost black, like the fireworks at the end of the year), and her breath smelled more like clover flowers and chocolate than it did carrots, no matter what she said later in the sled.

(She had been the first one to leap for Pitch when he'd dismissed Jack, fierce and glorious as some sort of queen, and he'd thought, in that moment, there was a difference between angry and _angry_ , and maybe he finally understood it.)

The third time they met was an accident, and it was a disaster.

Even though he always walked lightly, more on his toes than fully on his feet, he had felt eggshells crunch and powder under him, and each one had ached like needles sinking into his skin. Worse still had been the look on her face when she'd stared at him, and he would have given anything to see her _angry_ again, to see those same sparks and snarls in her eyes and curling her lip. Angry was at least something he could deal with; angry meant that she still believed and there was still some fight in her. Despair turned her slumped and sad, with nothing of the fierce creature who'd kicked him out of the sky, who'd raced him across rooftops and cradled a little girl like she was the most precious thing in the whole world, and smiling at him, at _Jack Frost_ like maybe, just maybe, she'd seen something more to him, as well.

And that was all gone now, along with her hope, crushed into eggshells and powder beneath his feet. Anything he could say wouldn't be enough; he could only watch her turn away, walking so slowly that it seemed she might sink into the earth itself, and it felt like being gutted alive.

The fourth time they met was an accident, because Jack hadn't known that the Guardians would be in Burgess, his Burgess -- all he'd wanted was for one person to believe, _one person_ who could help sustain the image he held so clearly in his mind, from that first meeting so long ago. He wanted to remember her proud and brave, hopeful and bright, everything that drove him crazy and inspired him to do his worst just to see her fume.

All he wanted -- everything he'd wanted -- there were _so many things_ he wanted and not all of them he could even name, and he wasn't sure if his feelings could even properly reach her, not when they were still tangled and lost and confused and his own fledging identity, born anew after three hundred years, still felt strange to him. He couldn't figure out quite where the sharp edges were, or how close it would settle to his skin.

(But maybe she understood just a little; he'd seen something in her eyes, even in her reduced small state, that made him think of cool forest glades and echoing laughter, and it pulled up a glad shiver in him that he held close to his heart long after Burgess dropped out of sight and there was nothing but the clear sky and cold wind all around him.)

The fifth time they met was not an accident. North opened a portal for him that dropped him close to the Warren -- not in it, because it was another Guardian's domain and North was polite about that sort of thing -- and Jack had gone, stepping as lightly as he could, so that only the very tips of the grass frosted as he passed, and he'd found her waiting for him.

"Here to cause trouble again?" she asked, raising a brow. She had her arms crossed and while her posture looked relaxed, he had no doubts that she could spring and pin him again in a heartbeat if she felt like it. The thought bothered him less than he thought it should.

"What, me? Trouble? Never." He grinned and shuffled his feet through the grass, frosting more of it now, more to see her whiskers twitch in vague annoyance than out of any real desire. "Just thought I'd come check on you, since all that trouble you had at Easter ..."

She narrowed her eyes. "And whose fault was that?"

He winced a little and saw her lean forward at that, and she could move both fast _and_ silent, because then her hand was on his shoulder, warm and heavy, the thumb soft against his neck. Even that was enough to remember the first time they'd met, and the sheer unexpected strength of her, and Jack thought: Maybe that was when I actually fell in love with you. Maybe it was that early.

Aloud, he said, "So, are you going to show me around?"

"You've already seen the most of it," she said and rolled her eyes, but then she pulled him forward and along with her into the Warren, and if he walked a little closer than necessary, and if her hand lingered on the back of his neck, under the fold of his hood, neither of them were going to complain.


End file.
